Hakanaki Hibi To...
by Djinn
Summary: [m/m warning Fujima x Hanagata] Years down the road, Fujima, now a business magnate, is found dead, and Hanagata is the greatest suspect. The interrogation penetrates the very psyche of their relationship, yet justice remains blind.


Hakanaki Hibi To...

[I'm very sorry for the ultra long author's notes! ^_^;;] Despite the fact that this is a true spur-of-the-moment fic, despite the fact that the featured pairing is one of the most unpopular pairings in this huge multi-pairing fandom, this is the first and only fanfiction of mine that has ever made me cry, and will probably be the last. Perhaps it's the way I'm feeling, perhaps it's the deep empathy I feel for Hana-chan, but never before have I ever _ever_ cried over any story of mine own and if I can help it, I never _ever_ will again. Yes, I truly believe in FujiHana. Yes, I have watched Slam Dunk, and the Shoyo Arc to the death. Yes, I have sat in front of the television staring intently at the screen intermittently pressing forward and rewind and forward and rewind, examining expressions, trajectories, and voice pitch and tone over and over again. Yes, I've done everything I could possibly have done, and I've drawn my own firm conclusions about the relationship between Fujima and Hanagata. Does their relationship in this fic reflect my conclusions? Yes, and no. It's what I would call an alternate future fic, and in this alternate future, I've darkened their relationship, made Fujima a tad more brutal than he probably is. Does that change a thing? Not really. My point would be? I don't know.

And that's really it. I don't know. This fic confuses me. The idea hit me like an angel's sin. I _had_ to finish it. I did, in two days, yesterday…and today. And despite the fact that I still have homework, and that my promotional examinations are in less than a week, I _needed_ to finish it. This fic, I'm afraid, has actually become _important_ to me.

That's why I will beseech you now, to, if you start, read the fic to the end [unless you really don't want to…]. The story, I realise, has four prominent shifts, and in my opinion, it's really the last parts that…speak. It starts with dialogue. Devotion. Description. It ends, with d…

'Hakanaki hibi to…'

_[Transient days and…]_

- Sekai ga Owaru Made wa [WANDS]

Hakanaki Hibi To…

By Djinn

"I understand that this must be difficult for you."

"Please, keikan. Spare me the formalities."

"If you insist. You do realise that this is a serious business."

"I think I should know that better than you."

"I suggest that you cooperate with us."

"To the best of my ability."

"…Very well. I already know of your…circumstances. I will have to ask you to describe your relationship with the deceased –"

"Kenji-sama."

"Excuse me?"

"Please don't say deceased."

"…Alright then. How would you rather I address him?"

"Kenji-sama – no. I apologise. Old habits die hard. Fujima-san. That would be better."

"In which case, I will have to ask you to describe your relationship with…Fujima-san."

"…How much of it?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story."

"All of it, if you would, spare no details. I have all day, and I would like to understand your…situation."

"…You haven't interrogated many homosexuals, have you?"

"Would that be a matter of any consequence?"

"I suppose not."

"Please proceed."

"…I suppose it began in high school."

"Why then?"

"That was where we first met."

"Classmates, I presume?"

"Team-mates, actually. Basketball team-mates."

"Ah. I have heard of your close associations with basketball."

"We were the best."

"I have no doubt."

"Believe what you will."

"I think I shall. Please. Continue."

"Thank you. It was the first day of training. It was inevitable that we would notice each other. My height already gave me an edge over the rest of the Year Ones. My skills put me on the road to becoming a team star. Kenj – Fujima, on the other hand, was already a superstar. Introductions that day were perfunctory, merely kindling awareness. Further contact – the Shoyo basketball club ensured plenty of that – developed more…"

"Dare I venture…friendship?"

"You might, but I would not. Friendship denotes mutuality, an association borne of like, free will. I was rather his dog."

"His dog."

"I know it sounds trite."

"…When did a more…serious relationship occur?"

"Two weeks after we acknowledged our acquaintance. There's nothing moderate about Fujima. It started with sex of course…I think, in a way, for Fujima that was all it meant. Sex…and the abuse."

"You'll excuse me for a moment, Hanagata-san. If I recall rightly, you're a hundred and ninety-seven centimeters tall. Fujima-san was ten, twenty cm shorter, around the same number of kg lighter? I find it hard to believe that, in such circumstances, Fujima-san can dominate, much less abuse –"

"Then you don't know Fujima very well. Fujima…is - was all about power. Control. Think about it – a business magnate at the age of twenty-seven? Even in high school – he was the star, coach and captain of the Shoyo basketball team in our graduation year. If he had weaknesses, he never…rarely…showed it. I don't even think he ever truly cared for anyone…we were all just pawns he used."

"And yet, you chose to be used."

"It was not a choice. How can I explain? You have to see him – know him to understand. Fujima…is no ordinary man. He's the brightest, most beautiful thing that could ever exist. He doesn't request obedience, he commands it, and we just give him all…if only you could know…to look upon him is to look upon the sun. To hear him…I think it's close to hearing the voice of God. He's my God, really. I can refuse him nothing, I don't dare, nor do I _want_ to. How can I make you understand what I mean? …When I was young and foolish, I thought it was love. Now…I know it is. I love him…Loved."

"You're quite the poet, Hanagata-san."

"You may scoff, but you'll never understand how it was. I belonged to him, body, soul, and heart. Willingly, despite the pain. I still do, I believe…I still do."

"I'm touched."

"I'm sure."

"Have you never rebelled?"

"Of course I have. I wouldn't be human if I never tried to disobey. The problem with disobeying is that Fujima is _always_ right."

"Care to explain?"

"I'll give you an example instead. Once again, Shoyo Basketball Club. Graduation Year. Kanegawa Prefecture Inter-High Basketball Eliminations. It was a crucial match – one that would determine whether or not we would enter the finals. And we had to! Shoyo ranked second in the matches the year before, we could not lose. Fujima could not lose. But I…disobeyed. We lost. It was my fault. Needless to say, I had hell to pay."

"Hell to pay?"

"Couldn't move the next morning. Couldn't sit properly for a week."

"Ah."

"As I said, Fujima is always right."

"May I remind you…was."

"…I apologise."

"I assume that this relationship carried on after high school?"

"We never broke up, if that's what you meant. As I said, I loved him, I would never leave him of my own accord."

"What about Fujima-san? Was he as loyal?"

"I don't believe I ever meant much to him, really. If he had had other lovers, he wouldn't have made a point to inform me. He certainly wouldn't have felt the least bit remorseful. But truth be told, I doubt he did."

"What makes you so sure?"

"We had sex just about everyday. Multiple times, if it struck his fancy."

"I see."

"You asked."

"So I did. This behaviour continued throughout all further institutes?"

"This behaviour continued till yesterday."

"You were satisfied with your relationship, then?"

"There was nothing to be satisfied about. I loved him. He used me. I let him. He kept me. But I wouldn't have wanted it to change. Not for anything."

"Tell me, what happened after Fujima-san entered the working society?"

"I, too, am an employed man, keikan."

"I did not forget."

"…Fujima had already a large fortune at his disposal. What can I say? It got larger. I just did whatever needed me to do. As long as I could stay with him, it didn't matter. As for Fujima…I don't think the thought that I might want my own life ever crossed his mind. It never crossed mine."

"Were there ever any altercations? Anything that threatened your relationship?"

"No. Nothing much changed in the eleven years we were together."

"What, then, happened in the days preceding his death?"

"…There was never an indication that something like…like that…would occur…except that he'd been excessively brutal in intercourse for the past few days. That didn't particularly bother me – he was periodically like that, when he was frustrated with office work, or any other such matters…And of course, as you should know, his business collapsed the day before…it happened."

"So he lost his usefulness?"

"I don't like what you're implying, keikan."

"Describe what happened yesterday."

"Nothing much, at first. I had taken the day off. After the past few nights, I could hardly suffer myself to sit in the office all day. When I woke up, he had already left, as usual. I left the house to buy some groceries around noon…Ke – Fujima liked home cooked meals. When I returned…I found his…body…in the bedroom…On the floor…"

"Now, Hanagata-san. Describe to me exactly what you did when you made that discovery."

"…There was a gun next to him. I picked it up…I think I put it on the dressing table…He was lying in an awkward position…he wouldn't have liked it. So I…I just laid him out in a more comfortable arrangement…"

"Did it ever occur to you, as you were so conveniently rearranging Fujima-san's body for his comfort, that you were ruining police investigations?"

"Police investigations never even occurred to me. Kenji-sama was dead. He was gone. That's all I knew. It was only when I realised that he'd hate rotting away that I decided to call the police."

"So you called the police and told them that there had been a death at your residence."

"That is right."

"What did you do after the call?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Humour me."

"I took a blade…the kitchen knife. I slit my wrists. I laid down next to him. If Kenji-sama was dead…there was no reason for me to live…I must have lost consciousness after a while. The next thing I remember, I was in the prison ward."

"Did you kill him?"

"No! I would rather have killed myself than kill him! I would have…if the lot of you hadn't revived me. I told you. You should have let me die."

"Then why did you kill him?"

"I did not kill him!"

"It was for the money, wasn't it? You killed him for the money, didn't you?"

"Of course not! I…what money?!"

"Fujima-san was a rich man, wasn't he? He might have lost his business, but he still had his savings – negligible for one used to affluence of course…but you're not such a man, are you? His savings would have meant a fortune to you. "

"That's where you're wrong, I'm afraid. He doesn't love me enough to give a damn about what would happen to me after his death. All his assets would have gone to the National Basketball Association of Japan. I happen to know. I worded his will."

"Then you must not have worded his will very well – I have a copy of Fujima-san's will right here. The Final Will and Testament of Fujima Kenji. In the event of my death, all property I own at time of death shall be transferred into possession of Hanagata Touru, should he survive me by a period of at least thirty days. _Otherwise, all property owned by me at time of death will be ceded to the National Basketball Association of Japan. The same goes for his insurance policy."_

"It's impossible. He…I…I never knew…"

"A likely story, Hanagata-san."

"Stop that. I told you. I didn't kill him."

"Then who did? Who else would benefit from his death? Are you telling me that NBA Japan sent an executive to assassinate Fujima-san?"

"Of course not –"

"Your residence is completely secure, you know that better than I. There was no one else in the house, your fingerprints were on the gun –"

"I took it away from his body!"

"Then who killed him?!…Or did Fujima-san commit suicide?"

"…"

"Was it suicide? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"…"

"Young businessman, despairing at the collapse of his once-thriving company…You could have just said so from the beginning –"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"It wasn't suicide."

"Hanagata-san –"

"I did it. I killed him. There's nothing more to be said."

"Hanagata-san, I don't know what twisted game you're playing, but I can tell you, I don't appreciate it."

"Nor I yours, keikan."

"…Take him away."

* * * * * * *

The only illumination in the cell was the moonlight, streaming in like silver ribbons from the high, lonely bars. He could see the moon from where he sat, a cold goddess, beautiful…but ultimately untouchable.

Much like Kenji was now.

The thought of it hurt, a freezing constriction tearing at this throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing tightly, trying to force the hurt away, at least for a little while.

…In such a desolate place, the dust motes seemed like silver, points of fairy light drifting lazily across the moonbeams, but never quite out of the glow. He envied them, envied their constancy. Ten years, a hundred more, what did it matter? It was suspended animation. It was eternality.

It was everything he'd wanted…everything he'd lost.

_Stop that._

Trembling, grasping for distraction, he extended a hand into the beam…They'd always said that his pale was a lily pallor – the pall of death. The silver of the moon caught it, softened it, till it was rather the white of milk…Kenji had been like that…Caucasian-pale, milk-pale, life and energy and radiance-pale. Except now he was white. Death white. Bone white.

He was tired.

It was hopeless, really. Absolutely hopeless. He could no more stop thinking about him than he could stop the beating of his heart…and he wished verily, viciously, that he could do the latter.

He closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the rough stone walls.

How could he be gone? How could he be…dead…

How could one convey depth of emotion, even emotion? It was impossible to make him see…It was one thing to tell him that Kenji was bright…but how could one convey _how_ bright, that he burned, like the sun, that it was sometimes hard to look at him because he hurt your eyes and yet you could not look away because he was so beautiful. How, even when he hurt him, he wanted more pain, simply because it was given by him, and, sometimes, that was the only thing he could ever get from him. No one could ever understand. He loved him so much it hurt, a physical ache that centered in his heart, spreading everywhere and anywhere else, till his entire body was nothing but a shrine created only to pay tribute to this god that was a man. How could he say that? Long sleepless nights where he'd stared at his face, so confident even in slumber, drinking in his presence as if it were the last night of the world. A love he could not speak, caught in his throat, in his heart, that it ached with frustration and he wished he could tear his very heart out to show it, for he could not _understand_.Till he learned, over time, to simply not say, but love in silence, whether or not he understood, or even _knew_. That he would die for him, if he'd only ask, or even if he did not ask, his life was his. How could he describe?

And how could he describe, now, the aching emptiness within him…the freezing core that screamed, keened in black and red, mute and terrified, and wishing to be filled again, not with this terrible pain that spoke of loss, but another pain it had learned to love, or even not the pain at all but anything – _anything!_ – that he would not be dead would not be gone and it clawed and fought and tore at his chest, waves of grief and loss and pain crashing through his body, the sorrow diffusing into his blood like love like pain till he thought he would burst and it begged to be released to rent the air so the world would know it, grief-crazed, but found none, the only concession being the hot tears that now spilled uncontrollably from dark, weary eyes, slipping swiftly down pallid cheeks, the crystal and porcelain evidence of his loss.

It hurt. God. It hurt.

…Somewhere in the distance, the perpetual footsteps of the guard faded away into nothing. The next patrol would not start till an hour later.

It was time, then.

Carefully, he stood up, steadying himself against the wall with an outflung hand as a brief moment of nausea hit him. Despite the transfusion – a waste of good blood – he was still in the throes of blood loss.

…That would make his job easier.

Of course it had been suicide. Any fool could have figured it out. Body, gun, and lover dying by his side. As clichéd as it might have been, there were certain set formulas for everything. It must have been the collapsing of the company. The Fujima pride would have been dealt a blow too serious to withstand.

…He really should have known…should have guessed. But that night was all about pain – he'd already been torn, he just tore again – and Kenji hadn't made a great deal out of it…not that he made a great deal out of many things…

"Hana-chan," he'd said, after a moment of silence, the kind one had after sex, "The business collapsed."

"Daijoubu…" he remembered saying through the haze of pain, "…You still have millions to spare…"

There'd been a pause, wherein, he, at least, had contemplated the significance of the day, that Kenji had called him Hana-chan, a rare indulgence.

"You're precious, Hana-chan. Oyasumi."

"…Oyasumi nasai…Kenji-sama…"

And that'd been the end of it. Then the next day…

He really should have known.

But there hadn't been a word, hadn't been a note, no indication, no goodbye, no anything at all that denoted the behaviour of a desperate man…of course, again, the Fujima pride at work. Ah, what a strange creature it was. Too proud for failure…almost too proud for suicide.

…And certainly too proud to admit it.

That was the last and only thing he could do for Kenji, bear the burden of his shame. What did it matter if they thought him guilty? Only Kenji mattered. Only Kenji, and now Kenji could rest in peace, his name untouched, untainted, a martyr, murdered at his prime by his scheming lover. What did it matter if he died?

He would die. He was sure of it. He would have nothing else.

But he would not let those bureaucrats, those bastards, sentence him, put him to death like a common criminal. If he were to die…he would do it his way.

…It was at times like this…he wondered about the Hanagata pride.

He unwound the heavy bandages around his wrists, neatly laying the scraps aside. The slashes had mostly clotted, but some parts of the wound still gaped open, the red-pink flesh glistening almost obscenely.

Good.

Quietly, he examined the bars of the gate, running his fingers along the cold metal. Prison workmanship was shoddy by nature, there was always some unpolished edge –

Aah.

The sharp sting of pain in his fingertips told him he had found it. Further inspection told him it was approximately six inches in length, less than a quarter in width. In other words, adequate.

He eyed the dull gleam with some trepidation. He was not a fool. He knew…

- _Pain!_ As he pushed the gash in his right wrist against the makeshift blade, laboriously dragging it down.

__Pa_in!! _As the dirty steel bit, tore into his flesh with a sickening rip, and tore more, now slick with blood.

The bile rose, burning the back of his throat. He raised his free hand, pressed the back of it against his mouth, trying desperately to keep from retching, knowing what would come after that. The pain made him sick to his stomach, raw, intense agony, as he shredded his wrist like a piece of meat.

…But it was like then…wasn't it? The pain, as he'd sliced his wrists the first time with the knife. Sheer pain, until he looked again at Kenji's face…the lifelessness…the bullet hole in his temple…the nevermore…

Utter grief welled, faster than the blood, filling his heart. There was no room for pain. The burning in his wrist dulled, he kept his hand against his mouth, now, to keep from crying out.

_Ohh…_

A savage thrust. A sudden spurt. Blood gushed out of the ragged wound, pumping lethargically in fits and starts.

He'd reached the artery. Good.

The other one now. Just as arduously. Slowly dragging down, mutilating the skin, the flesh. Again. Again. Till the same cathartic burst of red erupted from the ruined wrist.

That was enough.

Back to the bunk, ignoring the scarlet rivulets that painted the floor as he moved. He lay down upon it, curling up foetally, a haze of vertigo and Kenji's face in front of his eyes.

There was nothing left to do…save wait for death…

…It was near the end…when he could barely think…barely…

…He could hear the door open…not the cell gate…the bedroom door…soft… footsteps…coming closer…

…He knew who it was…

Sometimes…in the morning…when he'd been very…brutal…the night before…Kenji-sama would…he would…before he left for work…he would…come in and…sit…on the bed…when…he'd thought…he was…asleep…he'd stroke his hair…maybe a tender area…maybe…even…kiss him…before…he…left…

…That was the Kenji-sama…he…loved…best…not the bright…beautiful…one…not the one…everyone else…loved…

That Kenji-sama…with…soft…touches…soft kisses…

…With that Kenji-sama…he could almost believe…he…loved…him…

Like…that morning…yesterday…?…that…morning…he'd come…

…And he was here…now…

A familiar weight settled…familiar…caress…

…He smiled…tried to open his eyes…could not…it was…so…dark…

…But he knew…what he would…see…

"…Kenji-sama…"

"Hana-chan."

"…Did I…do…well…?"

"You did great. Better than I could ever ask for."

"…That's…all…I ever…wanted…to…do…"

"I know. Ai shite'ru…Hana-chan."

"…Ken…ji…sa…ma…"

"…You can sleep now."

END

'…kono Tragedy Night.'

_[…this Tragedy Night.]_

- Sekai ga Owaru Made wa [WANDS]

*sighs dejectedly* I must apologise. The fic had taken on quite a life of its own. I hope you can understand what I mean, the words that I said in the author's notes. I can think of nothing more to say, really. ^_^;; Except…

Footnotes :

Keikan– Officer

Daijoubu– 'It's alright'

…I know that 'Sekai ga Owaru Made wa' is more or less officially Mitsui's theme [and therefore a Mitko top pick!]. ^_^;; However, it's one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, and I felt it was appropriate for this, especially in the spirit of the story. Other than that, if I have erred in any factual element at all [for example, if it were _not_ 'Kanegawa'…], please do inform me! Thank you!

I do apologise for all the fuss and nonsense I've put you through. Thank you for putting up with me! ^_^ *drained of all energy*


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